Twilight: ReVamped
by tobiluvswaffles
Summary: What twilight would be like if it didn't suck as much as it does. Also if you see this on Rainbowmoose's account, that's okay cause she helped write it. Also, we really don't know what we're doing. Constructive criticism welcome!
1. Preface

Have you ever considered dying in place of someone you love? Take the knife to our throat or the bullet to your chest if it meant saving them? Yeah, neither have I. In this crazy fucked up world we live in, its kill or be killed. You are your own saviour Only you hold the key to your own destiny. You can't count on a damn person in this world – not even your own family.

Take me for example: Isabella swan, age 16, resident of phoenix, Arizona. Okay, ex-resident. Yeah, Dear old mom and step dad gave me the boot. "It's for your own good!" they said, "Oh, you'll love it up in forks!" Hah, bull shit. Sure it's a step up from Stonerville, USA, but come on! Who wants to live in a rainy shit hole like that? In a place named after a kitchen utensil?! Not to mention it's populated by vampires.

Yep, Vampires. The cold ones. Merchants of Death. Virgin Suckers. The Blood Sucking fucks that like sucking more than anyone else. Ah, got to love fucks, eh**?**

Anyways, yea, they exist. Surprise, surprise honey. All these ghouls and goblins from your nightmares, they exist.

**And they live right next door.**


	2. Chapter 1: I Swear I'm not crazy

A/N: This is really really rough. and I mean, really really rough. Me and Rainbowmoose will probably end up editing it quite a bit later. Constructive criticism always welcome. Thank's for reading

Chapter 1: I swear I'm not crazy. I've been tested.

I had to find my own ride to the airport. The stupid meathead that my mother married wouldn't let her drive me to the airport. He made me bus it to the airport. Oh well, it's not like she would say goodbye or anything. Besides, I usually took the bus anyway anyways. It wasn't that massive a change. Hell, the hard as diamond seats were almost a welcome comfort.

I was wearing my favorite shirt – a short sleeved black cotton thing that I had been wearing since the eighth grade. I didn't get new clothes very often. I wore it as a "fuck you" gesture to my mom. She always hated it when I wore black. Said it made me look 'depressed' Fuck that, I wasn't depressed at all! I just simply didn't give a flying fuck about what I wore.

My carry on item was a small bag full of an extra change of clothes and normal travel necessities (a tooth brush, a tiny toothpaste, mouthwash, and empty water bottle, etc...) and a few books on mythology. Got to learn what I can before I go and live with those blood sucking losers.

Considering Forks was generally under a constant downpour of sky-piss, I also brought along a sweatshirt, a raincoat, and a beanie. Just for good measure. You can never have too many warm clothing.

It's true that I've never really liked Forks, but it was better than being constantly sun burnt and lobster red all the time in phoenix. I never really got along with my mother. I loved her and all, (I mean, she did give birth to me) but I could not stand another day living in that hell hole. The city was crawling with ghouls, and werewolves, and demons. It was terrible. And they always seem out to get me.

The last attack was the last straw for my mother and the step-fascist. It was a werewolf, and it was two weeks ago, I still bore some of the wounds. I personally knew the werewolf too. His name was Randall Ethelwulf, of the Ethelwulf clan, descendants of the king of Wessex. He was a nice boy, I tutored him for math on occasion. I never missed the fact he was never there on the full moon. It didn't click in my head, though, till I went and visited him when he called in "sick" to see if he was okay.

It's not like I liked him or some shit. I just wanted to make sure his parents hadn't killed him or something. On occasion, he'd come to lessons looking like he'd been beaten to shit a few nights before. Bruises, scratches, the whole nine yards. I worried about him, a lot. He was a really good kid. He was only 14, but he had the manners and class of a 20 year old. It was a shame he had to die. Especially in the violent manner that he did. Poor guy was ripped to shreds. And at my hands, too. . .

Anyways, I ended up at his place late one night, text books in hand. Yeah, he'd called in sick, but honestly, I didn't give a shit. His grades were falling, and if he got an F, it was on my head. Fuck if I'd let that happen. Back to the point, I was at his door, knocking. I heard this weird noise. Really freaking weird. It was primal, animal-like. Sort of like a growl, but a growl mixed with someone taking a really big crap. It sounded fucking painful.

So me, being the idiot that I am, waltzed in, thinking I could help. I kicked the door in, ran in, and saw something that I really, really wish I hadn't.

There was this half wolf man thing in the middle of the room, locked in a steel cage, gnawing at the bars like some guy on crack. I was terrified at first, thinking it was some sick experiment gone wrong. But then I realized it was just Randall, Turning into a fucking wolf. Imagine my surprise.

He immediately looked up at me, and just snarled. Drool and mucus dripping from the jaws, just staring at me like I was a piece of meat . . . I guess I kind of was at this point. Of course stupid me was all "oh god . . . I should let him out!" Worst. Fucking. Mistake. Of my life! This was also the first sign that I got that was saying "hey . . . something wrong with you." because most normal people see a caged monster and think "I should probably run and shit myself." no. . . . My first thought was "aw . . . poor baby, I should let him out."

Yeah, I'm a real genius, aren't I?

Whatever.

I made my way to the cage, unhinging the steel doors and taking a step back. The mutt charged out like hell, and ran right at me. I didn't scream, I didn't start crying and praying for God to save my soul. Nope. I just calmly backed away, keeping my eyes locked with his. He stared me down, snarling. Slowly, his body reached full transformation. The bones cracked and creaked, and I swear to God I could hear the tendons ripping and tearing. Not to mention, I saw fur sprout all over his body. God, it was nasty.

And the smell! Ugh! Don't even get me started! It smelled worse than my father does after raking the river bottoms for a body.

I reached under my arm, hefting up a text book. "Here, Randall! C'mon, boy! Want to take a nice, big, bite out this Math book? Yeah, you want the mummy math book. C'mon! Go get it!" This was the part I felt bad about. Sure, the guy was some vicious beast bent on ripping me apart, but the guy was just a puppy. Young and innocent. I doubted he'd made his first kill yet, and I certainly didn't want to be it. Regardless, I really did feel just a little inkling of guilt. In any case, I lobbed the book over my head, aiming for the couch.

Randall, being the young pup that he was, ran right after it. Young wolves were so easy to distract. Chasing after something was instinct. He turned quickly, whipping his neck around and running right at the stupid couch that would soon end up being his deathbed. His claws ripped into the rather tacky fabric (flowers. A blue couch with rainbow-y flowers. 70's, much?), clawing deep holes into it as his jaws tore into the back of the couch. I walked into the kitchen while he was busy ripping the couch a new one and grabbed the biggest knife I could. Stupid me didn't bring my silver hunting knife.

I slowly walked up to him, watching him carefully. His piercing blue eyes turned and locked onto mine. It was rather painful to look right into them. He still had a bit of human left in him. I was tempted to let him go, just maim him into submission and walk away, but the guttural growl that left his throat convinced me otherwise.

I just stared him down until he started slowly walking towards me. It was obvious he knew I was a threat. He was snarling now, eyeing me up and down while I held the knife by my side in a relaxed manner. "I don't want to hurt you, Randall." Which wasn't a lie, because, well, I didn't. But I kind of had to. Then he charged at me.

It wasn't like a galloping antelope that he charged at me, it was like a full on carnivorous "I am going to tear you apart and eat your delicious intestines." Which most people would take as an "OH SHIT, I'M ABOUT TO GET MY FACE EATEN OFF!" Kind of moment, but not me. I just stood there, rather blank-faced.

The battle wasn't pretty. His razor sharp claws tore at my skin, ripping gashes along my arms. In exchange for my lovely little battle scars, I ripped through his flesh, stabbing and slicing through it like a butcher. I had to. The little fucker would eat me if I didn't attack and at the very least maim him. So I did just that. Ducking low, I slashed at his heel severing the Achilles tendon, turning him into some kind of blubbering dog-mess.

He laid there on the floor for a while, staring up at me and snarling. The neighbors must have heard the snarling and howling by now, why hadn't they come and say anything? Why hadn't the cops been called? I came to the only logical conclusion I could: The freaks next door were werewolves. Just like poor little Randall.

I'd been tutoring him for upwards of a year, giving him lessons in Maths and Science, teaching him the basic skills he somehow missed. We'd gotten, ah, 'close', if you could call it that. We weren't friends by any means, but we weren't strangers. And I did kind of spend all of my Friday nights with him. Hell, the kid was my social life.

And apparently, I was his.

"You know, Bella, you're the closest thing I've got to a friend," He'd told me one night. "Aren't I lucky to have a friend as kind, smart and beautiful as you?" He'd stared up at me with those big blue eyes that had always seemed to be hiding something. I knew what it was now. They were hiding the pain he went through every month, worse than having your period. The full body change that happens going from a small human frame to that of a mutated grey wolf-man. He never should have suffered. His parents really should have killed him the instant he was bitten, but I'd bet they didn't know till afterwards that it had happened. You generally don't start turning into a wolf 'till after puberty (how disturbing would a bunch of furry little wolf babies running around be?). So this had only been for a year or two, right about the time his grades had started failing and they'd hired me . . . The poor child. Why hadn't he said something? I could have helped. There are herbs you can use to ease the pain. There's a million and one things you could have done to prevent this kind of pain; death being one of them. He didn't need to go through this.

God, I was so pissed at these parents. Where did they get off allowing this to happen? They probably hated him, resented him, and wished they'd never had him. My killing him would probably be some kind of kindness.

Excellent.

So what the hell did I do? I was standing here, bloodied knife in hand, staring down at the body of a boy hardly old enough to start sprouting chest hair, who just so happened to be a werewolf, and was currently writhing in pain beneath me.

Kill him and spare the pain, which also pleased the dick-wad parents? Or save him and make the parents raise him up and groom him into a proper wolf? Which the parent's probably had no idea how to do.

I chose the former. A mercy killing, if you will. He deserved it. Question my morals all you will, but I honestly thought this was the best thing to do. I mean, if you'd seen him...God, there was so much pain in his eyes. (So much fucking pain pouring out in buckets. It killed me. Ripped me to shreds. Not only the physical pain, but the mental anguish he had to suffer.

Poor kid didn't have friends. He was an outcast. He would never have a normal life. Always living outside, watching the people on the inside, and wishing he could be there. He'd never connect with his own people. Ever. Hell, he didn't have any people.

Except for me, of course. So, why didn't I swoop down and save him? Take him into my arms and save him from all his pain?

Simple, really. That wasn't me. I couldn't do it. Do I honestly sound stable enough to help him through his pain? No. I'm not. I've got enough issues of my own, and nursing a pup to health wasn't something I wanted to (or could) do.

True, I could have helped with his pain, raised him up well, and taught him how to be a mannerly wolf-boy. It was in his name, for god's sake. Ethelwulf means Noble Wolf. But, for one, the herb used to cure the pains had some nasty side effects. It would disfigure him, send him into fits of growth. He'd never look the way he did before, making him even more of a 'lone wolf'.

And that was no life to live. He was a man of class, nobility. He deserved more than what he was getting, or would ever get. I was really left with no choice. . .

So I killed him.

Simple as that. It was the best choice, I'll admit. I know I probably sound like a selfish vampire bitch that only cares about themselves and their blood, or one of those animal shelters who euthanizes the pets if they're not adopted soon enough for their liking, but that's not a bad thing. If you saw the pain.

If I hadn't killed him when I did, he would have done it himself. I'd seen the scars he had on his arms, he'd already tried once. I saw the antidepressants, I saw the antipsychotics, all the drugs in his medicine cabinet he shouldn't be taking. He should have been a happy, normal, 14 year old boy. With friends and a social life, confidence and pride. Maybe even a girlfriend (he was a real cutie). Not a shut in who was afraid of his own shadow.

I managed to get my knife to a point where I could stab him in the heart. The poor kid had had a crush on me for a while, and I knew I'd have to break his heart eventually, but I never thought it'd be literally. I plunged the knife deep into the chest cavity. Twisting the knife to rip the arteries to make it a faster less painful death. After all, he deserved at least that much.

The wolf body shrank to that of barely old enough to go through puberty body of the 14 year old boy I tutored. He was still alive, if only for a moment. He looked up at me, the slightest smile on his face. Trembling lips formed the simple words, and a slightly furry hand reached up, tenderly stroking my cheek.

"Thank you." He said, his voice gurgling slightly. Blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth, accenting his plump and full lips. He was a rather attractive kid, even in death. Especially in death. Finally looking peaceful and happy. With each drop of blood, the pain left his face. By the time his eyes fluttered shut, he was smiling.

I took a moment or so to look at him, thinking back on all the good times we'd had (like when we'd made math themed cupcakes as a reward for passing his first set of entrance exams).

Then I had to get out of there because I was laying on top of a 14 year old naked boy with a knife stabbed through his chest.

And that, my friends, is how I ended up on a bus to the airport that would soon take me to either hell, or some rainy form of heaven. However, I would imagine heaven being quite wet because it's usually depicted as being in the clouds, you know, condensation and all that science shit. . .

My bus ride ended with a large man tapping my shoulder. He smelled like cheese and looked like pizza. How was it fair that someone like this got to live, and people like Randall had to die? Oh, fuck you, fate. Fuck you and all your twisted ways. How I hate you and your stupid logic. YOU MAKE NO LOGIC, FATE! Or, if you do, I don't fucking understand it. 'Oh, it'll all work out in the end! Fate has a plan!' HA, fuck that bullshit. Fate doesn't have a plane, fate is rolling dice and hoping he gets a six.

I got off and walked to the airport. My luggage was small. I didn't have too much stuff. Couple of toiletries (including a fancy shampoo to prevent sun bleaching. Not that I'd need it here or anything), some clothes, a book or two, a little bit of makeup, and a cat called Nerimon. I've had him since I was about 12, so he was old for a cat and was probably going to die really soon. I was still rather attached to the cat and would hate myself if I left him with my mother and her husband, and aside from that, they'd probably kill him. Or that redneck bastard that dared call himself a father would try frying her up.

It was a 3 hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, and then a three and a half hour drive from Seattle to Forks. So roughly six and a half hours of travel in an area I do not know by heart. Charlie was at the airport waiting for me. Old bastard hasn't changed since I was six . . . which was kind of weird because he should have aged by ten years . . . The mustache probably hid the aging. He always had his mustache. Creepy little lip caterpillar. Almost a pedo-stache, but not quite. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that he was recognizable in his police uniform.

We got home at who knows how late, only to be greeted by some long haired woman standing at our front door, and a blood-red truck sitting in our driveway. Great. Visitors before I'd even unpacked. The bitch was probably Charlie's new girlfriend or something. Fuck if I knew, or if I cared. Honestly, I just wanted to sleep. Take a nice nap with Nerimon and eat some Cheerios.

Charlie lugged my luggage out of the car and carried it for me while I carried my cat to the door. Nerimon mewled and hissed at the woman at the door. "Excuse me, but I really need to get it in." I tapped at her shoulder. Fuck, she was built like a brick, wasn't she? It wasn't soft and supple like I'd expect a woman's shoulder to be, but strong and...Manly. She had man shoulders. "Mi-"

Long black hair swooshed around at the sound of my voice, revealing a rather sculpted face. A manly face. Poor woman. "Hi, my name's Jacob." The voice was deep. There was stubble.

Oh shit.

That was a man. My bad. I am so glad I stopped myself. That would have been the most awkward moment of my life. It was bad enough to call a woman a man, but calling a man a woman was pretty much signing yourself up for a knee in the nuts and a kick to the face.

And I had no nuts.

.He stared at me for a moment. What for? Apparently, in social situations like this, you were supposed to reply. Right. Totally.

"Ah, like, hi, I'm Bella." What the FUCK went wrong there . . . Okay, I was going to douse my brain in bleach later. Those fucking valley girls had gotten to me. Bastards.

"Yeah, I know...You don't remember me, do you?"

Like fuck I remembered him. I thought he was a woman. I remember no hermaphrodites from my childhood. "No. . .I don't. Am I supposed to?"

He nodded and his hair nodded with him. "Yeah. Remember? Old friend? Playmates? We did that thing behind the barn that you got grounded for?"

. . . What? The fuck did I do?! I was still a virgin, so nix to that. I had all my limbs and I don't remember being scarred for life. I might have smoked some weed and that could account for the memory loss. . . "Nope, still not ringing any bells here."

"We made mud pies and threw them at the chickens?"

. . . Oh. Yeah. Him. Back then he had a crew cut and SpongeBob training pants. "OH! Jacob! I remember now. Totally! How have you been?" I said, just a hint of girl sneaking its way into my sentence. Oh, I'd get over it. But what can I say? Talking wasn't my strong suit. People weren't my strong suit.

"Good. I've been good. How are you?" God . . . he's gotten . . . big. Even big was an understatement though. He'd shot up about twelve inches, and now surpassed me. In both height and hair length. Not too bad on the eyes either. Nice face, good teeth, his hair shined nicely. I would have liked it a little shorter, but whatever. He was good looking enough. And he had a truck.

"I've been better. I got kicked out of my mom's house, so now I'm here with you all." I looked at the truck. It wasn't terribly old, but it wasn't very new either. It was a beautiful blood red. "This your truck?" I asked.

"Actually, it's your truck." His voice was smooth. Really smooth. Like butter. No, like chocolate. No. . . . Like buttery chocolate. Maybe I could get used to hanging with this guy.

Wait . . . my truck? MY truck . . . Awesome. The color irked me though. It was red. Deep red. Really deep red. Just like Randall's blood. Dammit. Whatever. I could just paint it or something. Maybe. . .

"Okay, well . . . I have to go unpack and stuff. Got school tomorrow." I muttered, running a hand through my thoroughly mussed hair. Nerimon hissed again in my arms, kneading his paws into my arm.

"Yeah, me too. Not your school though. I go to school out on the rez."

And there he went. Killing his attractiveness. Oh, he went to school on the rez! Big whoop! Yay for him! God, he said it like it was the coolest thing in the world, a badge of honor. It wasn't cool or exclusive. It just meant that he was Indian.

"Cool, cool." I left it at that and walked inside with Nerimon in my arms. That cat was all I had left of anything relatively living I could connect with.

I started unpacking my stuff. Starting with clothes. Then books, then everything else. My clothing ended up in a heap on the closet floor, and the books stacked by my bed. Nerimon made his way to the clothes, burrowing into them and nuzzling beneath one of my sweaters. Damn cat. I was going to school with fur all over me. Fun.

When I was done, I went into the small shared bathroom and showered off. I'll admit, I was kind of scared to shower. Not only was I terrified my cat might leap in with me, I was also showering with my father in the house. I didn't think he was perverted or anything, but fact of the matter was: I'm a woman now. I have tits. I don't need him seeing me nude. Naked. In the buff. Wearing my birthday suit. With my nunga-nungas hanging out.

Once that paranoia-fueled incident was over, I laid in my bed and picked up one of my favorite books, Lamb by Christopher Moore. It was always a comfort. Like an old blanket. I ended up not reading much though, because I was exhausted. I fell into an airy, dreamless sleep.

'BEEP BEEP MOTHER FUCKERS BEEP BEEP MOTHER FUCKERS'

There went my alarm. Sun filtered through the cracks in my pale purple curtains, beckoning for me to wake up. Fuck them. It was too damn early. Six thirty. I had to wake up at six fucking thirty. It was stupid. I would have woken up later, but today, not only did I have to find the place, I also had to go to the office and introduce myself to all the lovely button pushers. Bah.

I went through the normal morning routine of any female teenagers: Brush teeth, Wash face, and makeup (put on like a classy mother fucker. I don't walk around looking like I have grease paint on my face), leave. I didn't even eat. Unless you count shoving an apple in my bag eating.

I got into my truck and started it up. I was honestly surprised the hunk of shit worked. Charlie had left a note on the table for me this morning, telling me that I 'ran off before Jake could tell me how to work my truck'. Fuck, I could work a truck. You put the key in, you pumped the gas, and you said a prayer. Simple.

Charlie was already gone by the time I left. I pulled away from the curb it was parked at and followed the directions that the internet gave me. Turns out the hell hole of a school wasn't that hard to find. There were literally signs pointing me there.

I drove up to the parking lot, parked the car and got out. Everyone was looking at me. Oh sure, stare at the fucking new kid, it's not like she didn't have enough to worry about or anything, I walked up to the front office and made my way through the door.

"Hi, I'm Bella Swan, I'm new here."


End file.
